Classic Arab Feast

Author: Abqaiq Woman's Group
Released 19 October 2006

"Arab Feast - Dinner Party Saudi Style" is an excerpt from Favorite Recipes, Abqaiq, Saudi Arabia, 1953, a recipe book published by the Abqaiq Woman's Group.

Arab Feast
Drawing by Pat Johnston
Abqaiq Woman's Group
Favorite Recipes, Abqaiq, Saudi Arabia, 1953

Hospitality and a dignified simplicity are the hallmarks of an Arab’s entertainment of his guests. A dinner party in Saudi Arabia will vary widely in elegance and detail. It may be a meal in a desert shaikh’s tent open to the deepening blue of the evening sky and following the lonely, timeless music of the muadhdhin’s call to sunset prayer, when the Western guest finds unlooked-for comfort in the rugs spread on the sand, a camel saddle to lean against, the smell of the brushwood fire and the tang of the cardamom flavored coffee, while the men around the fire talk gravely and the cry of an infant or the giggles of the hereem come from the women’s end of the tent, curtained off by rugs and hangings. Again, it may be a dinner for one hundred guests in the palace of an important official, where the same Western guest’s attention is drawn by the fact that the rug at his feet is a gorgeous Shirazi and the tiny Arab coffee cups are unexpected Spode. Between these two lies none of the wide difference we find in meals served guests at different ends of the affluent scale in the United States. Here the basic characteristics are equally present, and the basic idea is the same.

It is after dark when the guest arrives at his first typical Arab dinner party. The sun has set and the sunset prayer has been said. At the doorway of his host’s house, normally blank and eyeless on the street, stands a servant with a lantern to light the guest’s way in and across the courtyard. He enters the main sitting room of the house, the majlis, to find his host and earlier guests, all of whom rise as the newcomer enters, all answering the greeting couched in his scant Arabic, “As salaam al aikum” – “Peace be with you,” with the courteous reply, “Wa alaikum as salaam” – “And with you, peace.” His host waves him to a seat of honor, which he declines in favor of one farther away, but which is accepted after a show of reluctance on his part, insistence on the part of the host, and seats himself on the cushions which edge the floor, his host meanwhile assisting in the arrangement of a cushioned box-like affair which serves as an armrest.

Greetings and inquires after the health of the host are exchanged, and similar inquires as to the health and welfare of other guests, and of the fathers, brothers, and known friends of such guests. He has barely time to notice the rugs which cover the floor completely and which overlap in many places, before a servant stands before him offering a small bell-shaped cup which contains about a tablespoonful of very spicy coffee, served black and very hot, as he finds out when he drinks. Automatically, he makes a slurping noise and feels ashamed of such bad manners until he notices that everyone else is doing the same thing and obviously evidencing enjoyment thereby. The servant, seeing his cup emptied, refills it with a fine flourish from the brightly polished brass coffeepot he holds and which mystifyingly never seems to run dry, although the bearer makes the circle of the room filling and refilling the cups of guests until they indicate satisfaction with a shake of the empty cup and a sibilant whisper of “bass,” which the guest knows means “enough.” All cups collected with great dexterity in one hand, the server leaves and reappears seconds later with a brightly enameled teapot from which he fills small glasses which the newcomer recognizes with a shock as miniature English beer steins. The tea, he finds, is very sweet and even hotter than the coffee, a thing he would not have believed possible. The slurping noise is obviously a necessity as well as a compliment to the quality of the host’s beverage. Conversation continues through three rounds of tea, after which the server again departs, one hand looking like a crystal chandelier from the cluster of tea glasses he has managed to hook onto his fingers, and again in a few seconds he has returned, this time with the coffee as before. Our guest notices that most persons present take only one cup, and follows suit, but notices also that individualists present take three or four before relinquishing the tiny container to the servant, whose silent exit is made easy by the thick rugs and the fact that his feet are bare. This makes our guest notice that most of those present are also barefoot, and he remembers the sandals outside the door through which he entered. Remembering also the Arab distaste for bringing the dirt of outdoors into a dwelling, he wonders whether he should have removed his shoes, but takes comfort in the fact that, in an Arab house, a guest can do no wrong. Besides, at that moment the servant appears empty-handed, and announces something; dinner is evidently ready. The host and guests file out of the majlis, put on their sandals with impressive ease and dexterity, cross the courtyard, and again kick off the sandals with one easy movement before entering a long room containing no furniture but what seems to the guest like more food than he has ever seen in one place before in his life.

The “table” is cloth or oilcloth laid on the rugs which here, too, carpet the entire room. All the guests drop easily down, and the guest, after some furtive appraisal of the different postures assumed, elects a position in which one knee is raised, the other leg tucked under him. On the cloth before him, ranged evenly down its length, are three immense metal trays, each covered with a flat mound of rice topped by what is obviously a whole roast sheep. Around these suns of food are satellite dishes of various sizes and, close to each guest, a round piece of bread which cannot be called a loaf but which resembles a puffy tortilla. The dishes contain, he notices, stuffed tomatoes, a stew of some sort, a salad of lettuce, tomatoes, onions and oranges, what looks like green beans in a meat sauce, and one or two whose identity he fails on completely. It is obviously more food than can be eaten by the guests present, or by double or triple their number. Nobody else, he notices, looks surprised at the display; in fact, he also notices that he is the only one who has not already started to eat.

Other guests have meanwhile pulled up the right sleeve – the left hand is not used by Muslims to handle food – and after a murmur of “Bismillah” “In God’s name”, and a soft-voiced compliment to the host on the size and appetizing look of the feast, have begun to eat with the right hand, dipping pieces of bread into the stews and sauces, tearing loose a portion of the roast sheep, deftly kneading a helping of rice into a neat ball with their fingers. The guest finds this difficult to do: rice cascades from his unpracticed hand. The host abandons eating for a moment to pull some of the tastier pieces of meat off the sheep and tosses them across the huge tray to land neatly on the rice nearest the guest favored by this attention. There is no conversation. Occasionally one of the guests speaks to a servant standing behind the diners, asking for a glass of water, which is brought from outside the room. The main attention of all, it is obvious, is in doing justice to the feast provided. Dinner table conversation such as Americans make a specialty of has already been disposed of over the tea and the coffee. It is simple logic to assume that when a man invites you to this house for dinner, he invites you to come and eat. Conversation is for the majlis, for leisure, for business hours, for over tea and coffee. At dinner time, one eats.

Each guest, having literally eaten his fill, raises on his own scheduling, with a murmured “Al hamdu lillah” - “Thanks be to God”. No excuses are made to the host, who is still seated; he would be surprised to receive them. He would be equally surprised if a guest delayed his departure from the meal just because the host had not finished eating, or if anyone stopped before he was filled just because the host had left the table. In a short time, by Western standards, the guests have all finished and have adjourned to the courtyard where servants hold brass urns of warm water, soap and towels. Stooping over a brass ewer, our guest washes his hand with soap as the servant pours the warm water over it, rises, and wipes it dry on a towel held out by another. Turning to admire the beauty of the desert night sky over the courtyard, his curiosity as to what will become of all the food left over is suddenly satisfied: the servants and members of the household are entering the dining room to have their meal off the considerable remainder. He learns later that no stigmas of “leftovers” is attached to such a proceeding. Food is almost sacred in a land of scarcity, and none is wasted. When the household has been fed, what is left is carefully given to the poor.

This observation of the “second sitting” makes the guest one of the last to re-enter the majlis, where everyone is seated as before. Conversation is slow. The memory of the feast is almost visibly present. Coffee is served, and tea, and coffee, as before. After this, the guest notices an air of expectancy, a half-felt stir. The host calls something to the servant standing just outside the majlis door, and the cry is repeated across the courtyard. Almost immediately, two men come in, one with a bottle of perfume, which he hands to his master, who shakes a few drops into his own hands and then passes on to his neighbor. The guest, uncertain what this is all about, watches closely and sees man after man accept a few drops, rub his hands together, then sniff the perfumed fingers appreciately. The second servant has what looks like a wooden urn on a fourfooted base; in it charcoal and pieces of brown wood are burning. This is placed in front of each guest in turn. The Arabs hold out the sides of their headcloths to trap the fragrant smoke inside, and wave it towards their faces and beards with a graceful motion of the hands. As it comes to our guest, he recalls the storied perfumes of Arabia, myrrh and sandalwood, and decides correctly that the burning wood is sandalwood, whose incense, he decides after a second sniff, he likes very much.

The stir and expectancy felt just before the entrance of the incense had obviously been in its honor and in honor of the fact that etiquette must now bring the party to a close. The guest nearer the host leans forward and murmurs something; it is a simple request for permission to leave. The host smiles, protests, agrees, and rises. At this, all rise and shake hands in turn with the host, thanking him for the excellence of the dinner, the company and the occasion in general. He waves these aside, insists on accompanying the guests to the gate of the courtyard himself, and sees them off into the darkness with the leave-taking which is half a blessing: “Fi aman illah” - “Go in God’s keeping.” Few languages have a finer farewell.

It is interesting that the institution of the “thank-you note” does not appear in Arabia. A guest who has enjoyed hospitality thanks his host for it as he leaves. To write again as a matter of form would be superfluous. Why? Because hospitality, with the Arab, is not a favor to the guest, it is an obligation. He is obliged to extend hospitality. Disgrace would come not from a guest's lack of appreciation, but from a host’s lack of generosity. At a dinner, to have only just enough food for the invited guests would be disgraceful. Suppose one of them brought friends? Or travelers stopped by unannounced? Would he not be obliged to offer them hospitality? Then why should it be treated as something unusual, a great favor? Somewhere in this reasoning lies part of the charm of Arab hospitality for the visiting Westerner.

Preparing Boiled Sheep with Rice

By Abdul Aziz Bin Anbar, Noted Cook in Abqaiq Area

Butchering and Preparing Sheep for Cooking

The sheep should be placed on the ground and held down so that it can not move. The throat of the sheep must then be cut at a place near the Adam's apple. As soon as the sheep is dead the head must be separated from the sheep.

When skinning the sheep one must be very careful not to cut some of the meat off with the skin. Make a long cut on the hind leg and with a knife pry the skin loose, then pull the skin off the sheep using two hands. Make two holes in the hind legs of the sheep, one in each leg between the muscles. Put a rope thru these holes and hang up the sheep. Grasp the loose skin (the skin loosened near the muscles of the hind legs) and pull the skin downward until all the pelt has been removed. The fatty tail should be skinned with a knife. The fat prevents the use of the hands in making a clean job. The head of the sheep should then be singed in a low fire to remove the hair. Next cut the sheep laterally from neck to tail on the belly side. The entrails must then be removed, and the stomach, liver and other edible organs should be removed and washed. The two floating ribs should be split upwards toward the trunk, but not separated from the carcass.

Now halve the sheep horizontally. Next cut the upper part of the sheep in two parts, beginning along the back bone. The hind legs should be left joined. The head should now be washed and the mouth propped open. Do not remove the brains as they are good eating. All of the above operations should take approximately one half hour.

Boiled Sheep with Rice

A big pot of salted water is placed on the fire and all the parts of the sheep are put in it. The meat should be cooked until tender. This may be judged by sticking a piece of wood into the meat and if it enters easily then the meat is cooked. If not, the pot should be left some time longer.

The water in which the meat is boiled must be put in another pot after the meat is cooked and to this water a considerable amount of spices is added. (Spices consist of cardamom, pepper, saffron and any other similar items.) A third pot containing reasonably salted water must be placed on the fire and rice is added, the quantity of which depends upon the number of the people invited (rate of 2 lbs. per person). Before all the water evaporates you add cooking butter and leave the pot on the fire until the water evaporates completely.

A big round tray is filled with rice on which the meat is placed in an attractive manner so that the sides are put against each other and the hind legs are put together in the middle. If bread is being used the gravy should be put in separate dishes. If bread is not used, the gravy must be poured on the meat and rice. All these processes usually take about 3 hours depending on the size of the sheep and the abundance of wood used for fire.

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